17. Flash

17

FLASH

B jorn, Strom, and I are suddenly faced with a choice, as we make it back to the Old Palace and digest everything we’ve learned tonight. We cool off with whiskeys after our fight against those Knights, sent after us by the Knights’ Council, as we argue about our potential next step.

We could either head down to Copenhagen in Denmark to see if we can find Mikkel and L?rke Thorsen and maybe get a lead off our cypher documents. Or we could follow Strom’s intriguing vision and head to Riksfold, to see if that former battle site has any clues about our enemy Bone Mage drakaina, and perhaps even the Black Dragon itself.

In the end, Riksfold wins—simply because it’s on our way back down the coast towards Denmark, inland near the ancient city of Uppsala. We decide to hit that first, then fly to Copenhagen, hopefully picking up the trail of the Thorsens and where they escaped to when the Knights came calling.

It means leaving the protection of the Old Palace, however, as we fall asleep in an exhausted tumble after a brief lovemaking, ready to leave by morning. Strom’s already said goodbye to his great-grandfather the Jarl and his sisters so we can get an early start.

Getting a dire warning from Jarl Jorg to keep our noses down, and fly straight in our hunt.

I know the Jarl’s words are wise, as Bjorn, Strom, and I make ready to fly this morning. We’ve got supplies, food, clothing for various purposes, and motorcycle leathers stashed in our silver silk fly-bags. Not only that, but we’ve got a magical lockbox full of all our arcane items and scrolls from the altar, as we may need to have Mikkel and L?rke Thorsen take a direct look at them once we find them.

We’ve also got a few more nice Ducati motorcycles from the Old Palace that we’ll need when we get to Denmark. Copenhagen is a flying-controlled city; no one gets permission to shift and fly over their airspace without addressing the Jarl of Copenhagen.

That Jarl is not exactly friendly with Strom’s family, Bjorn’s, or even my uncle, the King. We won’t be in enemy territory, but Danish Blood Dragons are unpredictable in the extreme and like to make grisly shows of things whenever possible.

Danish Blood Dragons are ruthless, cagey, and wicked in battle. They don’t like us Swedes on principle, citing us as far too thoughtful and level-headed, and less prone to go Berserk in a fight, though we do that plenty.

The Danes aren’t big, strong dragons, but they make up for it with the nasty tricks they engage during a fight, and the piles of wealth they like to hoard. They’re showy, flashy, vicious, and two-faced.

Very much like Mikkel himself , I think now as Bjorn, Strom, and I finish shucking the last of our clothing in our bags, standing naked in the sunshine atop the flying plaza.

We shift up, and my dragon’s mind takes over, just enjoying the beautiful sunny day. Still, I’m contemplative as we fly; I can feel Bjorn and Strom churning also, as we wing and dive upon the steady wind as our dragons, heading down the coast towards Uppsala.

None of us have been back to Riksfold since our family members were killed in that infamous battle against the Ice Dragons over sixty years ago. The Ice Dragons wanted to make a run on Stockholm to oust my uncle, King Huttr Erdhelm, from his throne, before he even knew what was happening.

Riksfold is a nothing town near Uppsala, but it was the chosen landing spot for the Ice Dragons when they tried to seize Uppsala and make it their stronghold to annex Stockholm. It was a bitter battle; the rolling hills and fields with their dotted pine forests were soaked in blood from the thousands that perished there, on both sides.

King Huttr’s swift action turned back the Ice Dragon invasion, barely. But it started a new war with them, the most recent Blood-Ice War—that would last until just seven years ago, when my uncle finally negotiated a truce with their new king.

We fly down the coast now, playing in the stiff wind as we roll and dive to clear our thoughts. The ocean air is fresh as we glorify in being alive; at last, we angle inland towards our destination.

It takes no time at all to reach Uppsala, with how fast Blood Dragons can fly. As we see many Blood Dragons winging and diving around the ancient city, glorious with its modern cathedrals and ancient Viking buildings gleaming in the sun, we know it’s just a regular day for them. For us, however, it’s time to face the saddest part of our past, as we head east of the city and wing down.

To land in a wide meadow that has forgotten the blood of battle.

The vast fields of Riksfold are beautiful, burgeoning with spring flowers and blue flax as we touch down. It’s lovely, the birds singing and the sunshine bright. I could almost forget such a vicious, brutal battle once happened here, except that something dark lingers in this place.

Like an energy that was never cleansed after such vast death, no one has ever resettled the small village. Riksfold is a forgotten town now, standing nearby with only overgrown stone foundations to mark its passage, everything else destroyed in battle.

It’s impossible to tell what was once what, as Strom, Bjorn, and I make our way over to those foundations now. Maybe a house, perhaps a barn or a smithy, the tumbled stones and foundations and the occasional chimney with an intact fireplace tell only the loss of the place that was once a bustling town.

Poorly defended, a hunting and crop-growing area near Uppsala, it was the perfect spot for the Ice Dragons to land their army, close enough to take Uppsala and eventually make it their stronghold. But King Huttr got word of the decimation that was done here to the villagers when the Ice Dragon horde arrived.

He knew a bigger plan was coming—and threw everything we had at it to stop it in its tracks.

All the clans sent their best warriors to Riksfold. It was a huge battle; I look around now, still seeing dragon bones poking up through the flowers, peat moss, and dirt, though most of the dead were reclaimed by their families and sent out to proper burials at sea.

It’s mostly Ice Dragon bones that lay here now; massive trenches were dug for the dead, and piles of them were set alight to burn, the bones scattered afterwards. It’s an abattoir now, the feeling of death laying heavy in this place, despite the bright sunshine, the dappled spring flowers, and birdsong.

I feel it in my bones as I ache, cold to my marrow. I know with my deepest instinct there’s Bone Magic here—as the black dragon inside me wakes, lifting its ferocious mantle to get a good whiff.

“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” Strom asks me as we share a glance.

“Bone Magic,” I say, knowing exactly what he’s means. “This place feels like a mound for the dead, but what I’m picking up here goes deeper than that. This place feels like Unhaemmerten : a site of the dead that seethes with ancient Bone Magic.”

“Trublut said Maryse picked up on some massive blast of Bone Magic that opened the battle, decimating the town,” Bjorn says now as he watches me and Strom. “Is that what you’re both feeling? ”

“It’s likely.” Strom scuffs his boot through the dirt now and it snags on a bone poking up through the tall grass. As he inhales, I feel him spread his Bone Magic wide, a dark violet blood-aura simmering through the air with flashes of green and red.

“I feel Bone Magic all over the place here.” Strom evaluates this spot. He narrows his eyes on the foundations of the town nearby. “I don’t even want to go in there, the signature of it is so strong. Like a bomb. Probably what Maryse felt, as well.”

As I narrow my eyes on the town, opening my own Bone Magic more, I see the ancient remnants of violet-black and crimson sigils all over those foundations. I whistle and Strom nods, as if seeing it all with me.

“What are you seeing?” Bjorn asks me now, not opening our connections to get the information from our minds, though I feel how much he’s tempted.

“Remnants of extensive Bone Magic cursing.” I watch those ancient Bloodrunes shimmer like ghosts in the sun. “It’s not exactly like those we saw from the Black Dragon, but close to it. It was probably the same group of Bone Mages who blasted that thing out of its resting place who opened this battle. The cursing here looks damn similar to a few of the Bloodrunes we saw on that Outer Island. Probably the ones from our enemy Bones Mages, which broke the Black Dragon out of its hole.”

“The records of the Black Dragon Knights don’t mention any Bone Mages at the battle of Riksfold.” Bjorn scowls now. “I know. I scoured them for ages, seeing if perhaps Bone Mages were responsible for my mother’s death.”

“There were Bone Mages at that battle, though. We know my brother was one, now that my great-grandfather has come clean about our family, and our historical involvement in the True Black Dragon Knights…” Strom is alert as he wanders away from the town, towards the battlefields that ran so red that day with slaughter.

Hands on his hips, Strom scans the ground with his vision as he spreads his Bone Magic wider. It’s a slow, cold movement of power that shivers me, even as it makes my black dragon sit up tall. Because Strom’s magic is just as erotic as it is powerful; I practically roll in it now as he opens it all around me.

My inner black dragon basking in it, like a cat.

“I felt that,” Strom says, eyeballing me with a smile, even as he goes back to scanning the battleground. “We’re supposed to be working, Rikyava. Get it together.”

“Sorry.” I blush, still feeling how much my Bloodwalker power is uncontrolled in both my Blood Magic and my Bone Magic now that Aesa’s stone is fucking with it.

Strom’s right, however; we’re on a mission here, looking for any clues about that small Bone Mage drakaina, to see if this ancient battlefield can lend us any insight about her. Strom’s vision told us little about who she is, not to mention why she was at Riksfold that day, nor why she went after Bintha Lofta during our fight at Jurggadden.

And me—blasting Maryse’s bone bracelet off my wrist during the fight.

We walk now as we scan the battlefield, though I’m not sure what we’re looking for. But even though Bjorn and Strom aren’t sure, either, a deep instinct takes me now, that scanning the battlefield rather than the town is where we need to be.

The longer we walk, however, the more it feels like this is just a lost cause. Aesa’s stone is humming on my chest like we’re doing the right thing, and I feel the sensation of Bone Magic lingering here from that opening blast, but it pervades the entire battlefield.

A product of the bones that lay beneath—and the ancient power such places contain.

Just as we’re about to give up, the sun at high noon and our bellies rumbling for food, Strom halts. I feel him spiral his Bone Magic down beneath the earth; as a strange look takes him, I step over.

I feel it then, what Strom has found. As if he had a dowsing rod and just found water, his Bone Magic has picked up something deep beneath the dirt.

“Dig?” He looks at me.

“I think so.” I nod, then glance at Bjorn. “You’re the biggest and strongest. Care to shift and dig down, see what you can find?”

“Sure.” Bjorn doesn’t even give a single huff at being used like a construction excavator; once again, I’m impressed by the man he’s becoming. He shifts up into this big golden drake, not bothering to shed clothing because we’ve all been wandering around naked this entire time, then digs his massive talons into the earth, raking it up.

It’s only a few minutes before Bjorn hits something solid. Strom and I jump into his ample hole, helping clear dirt away so we don’t damage whatever it is, as I see we’ve unearthed a skeleton.

Small, it’s a Blood Dragon drakaina, still in dragon form, her bones never reclaimed by any kin. Bjorn has shifted back down; he, Strom, and I all exchange a glance as we clear the sandy moraine away from the dead drakaina’s bones.

I wonder who she is as we brush off the dirt and small rocks; by the angle of her pelvis and the delicate stature of her bones, I know she was a her, though all her flesh is gone. Many of her serrated scales still survive; as I unearth one now, I see she was a sky blue color, with darker lines of blue midnight running through her.

Not a typical coloration for a Blood Dragon, who tend to be black, red, and gold.

“She was blue.” Bjorn eyeballs the bones as he squats, clearing soil away from another scale. “Only Icelandic Blood Dragons are generally blue. Whoever she was, she flew all the way from Iceland at her King’s call… to fight here and turn back the Ice Dragons.”

“She was a strong Bone Mage.” Strom hunkers also, whispering his fingers over the blocky skull of the dead drakaina, and the massive spines that crest off her head.

As he touches her bones, I can feel what he’s feeling; a strong signature of Bone Magic still whispers off this drakaina’s remains, as if her magic won’t quite be set free until her bones at last dissolve to time—or whatever keeps her magic here is at last resolved. It’s not something that happens with regular Blood Dragons; our power is gone the moment we hit the ground.

But not this drakaina—as her power whispers to us of time, battle, and an aching for release.

“Time to open up the ol’ Bloodwalker power,” I say now as I heave a sigh. “I’ll contact the Ancestors and see if I can find her.”

But even as I hunker, touching her bones to feel for her presence beyond the Veil and into the Void of Ancestors, I know I won’t find her there. I feel this drakaina is still trapped here inside her bones as I touch her remains. It’s something I’ve not dealt with before.

And something I don’t know how to address, if she’s not yet an Ancestor.

“Think you can open your power wider?” I glance at Strom now. “Get some resonance between your magic and hers to see if you can spy her final moments?” I don’t even know if that’s a thing with Bone Mages, but I feel a whispering from Aesa’s Truthstone upon my chest.

Telling me my instinct is right—that it’s something a strong Bone Mage can do, to interact this way with the dead.

“I’ll try… if you stabilize me.” Strom gets to his knees in the dirt to have a better seat and not topple over as he tries this. I do the same next to him as Bjorn stands at our backs. Strom extends a hand and I grasp it, while Bjorn sets two firm hands to our shoulders.

Clamping down, as he supports us.

“I’ll hold you both steady in your Bone Magic, so Aesa’s stone doesn’t push you too far,” Bjorn says, as he stands solid behind us. “Strom, try to get inside the drakaina’s power with yours and see her memories rather than your own. We need whatever information she might provide about this battle. It’s the only glimpse into the past any of us are going to get, other than your one memory with your brother. ”

None of us fought in the Battle of Riksfold; all of us had been considered too young and were held back as reserve fighters, in case things went disastrously with our King and his sortie against the Ice Dragons. We have no actual memories of the battle, only of coming here to claim our dead. And we need some clue about that small enemy drakaina, some kind of starting place to figure out who she is and how she’s connected to all this.

Which maybe these bones can provide—but only if we stay strong enough to figure it out.

As Strom opens his power now, I feel him slide his energy inside the bones. They open to him gladly; it’s as if this dead Icelandic drakaina, whoever she is, has just been waiting for some other Bone Mage to find her and see her last moments.

She wants to tell her eternal tale, as Strom opens his power and is practically sucked right inside her remains. He sways forward as his power opens to her, and hers opens right back.

Bjorn holds him steady by the shoulder as I ground him with both sides of my Bloodwalker energy now, gripping his hand as he’s sucked into the bones of the dead drakaina.

And we see her memories—flooding to Strom in a tirade.

They’re so fast, even I can hardly make sense of them as they inundate Strom. Something about her tale is so urgent, her last moments so prescient, that we see a scene-for-scene replay of her final memories now on the battlefield.

As she soars high in the bruised late autumn skies, we see they’re thick with fighting; enemies roll and slash, diving on the wind as barrages of vicious icicles and snow-thick gales hammer our people.

We’re fighting back hard with nets and snares of Bloodwind, and enormous volleys of Bloodlances. Ice Dragons are falling, in addition to our kin, though the enemy’s slain are more.

But then, that small enemy drakaina arrives upon the battlefield—blitzing through the cloud-heavy skies and smiting some of the strongest fighters for our King. I see that Bone Mage drakaina seethe through this Icelandic drakaina’s memories, smiting down Bjorn’s mother, then my parents, then Strom’s brother in quick succession.

She’s a targeted, fast flyer; our bones know instantly who she is, as this Icelandic drakaina roars in to engage her now, furious in the skies.

The enemy Bone Mage was already coming for her, however; this Icelandic drakaina was on her hit list, too, as Bone Magic hits Bone Magic, erupting through the clouds.

The fighting is so thick and fast that nobody has time to see what’s happening with these two drakaina’s signatures as they rip, roar, and wrath at each other. Our enemy Bone Mage seems surprised to see the blue Icelandic drakaina on the field, her red eyes opening wide as our Icelandic drakaina gets her jaws around the enemy’s neck, and crunches down fast.

The blue drakaina puts real power into her bite—Bone Magic power. She punctures so deep, she gets a jugular vein, her power seething into the bite to keep blood flowing and never heal.

The enemy drakaina is just as powerful, though, as she shakes off our Icelandic blue dragon. She barrels back in with a masterful move, getting her talons into this drakaina’s chest.

Ripping out her heart—just like she did to Bintha.

It’s terrible, as our blue dragon’s body falls to the ground. Some part of her knows she’s dead; but the other part of her that lives within her magic has not gone yet, her soul bound to her bones in a way she cannot describe, until she finds resolution.

She’s dead upon the field; all the fighting has stopped, far above. Bodies are littered everywhere. As her dead eye remains on the skies above, we see one last glimpse of that Bone Magic drakaina, blitzing away from the fight.

Other Blood Dragons are here now, families of the dead, arriving to take them home. I don’t know if this memory is before or after Strom saw that same Bone Mage drakaina—but we see a massive gold and black drake soar away beside her now, as our enemy departs .

They hit the clouds and are soon gone, hidden from all those searching for the dead. But I know what we’ve seen, as Bjorn roars in rage, so hard he shakes to his very fundament.

Because we’ve just seen his own father, Jarl Oggi Magnussen, in this blue drakaina’s memories.

Leaving the battle with our enemy Bone Mage at his side.